


I've Got the Strangest Feeling

by TheVineSpeaketh



Series: Love Actually Is All Around [5]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anxiety, Bachelorette Party, Cute, Drunken Shenanigans, Drunkenness, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/F, Fluff, Fluffy Ending, Happy, Happy Ending, Mutual Pining, Pining, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-22
Updated: 2016-06-22
Packaged: 2018-07-16 13:27:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7270108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheVineSpeaketh/pseuds/TheVineSpeaketh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Enjolras shook her head, but her smile was still in place, all warmth and lacking any trace of derision. Grantaire’s breath hitched. Her chest expanded, and kept expanding, until she was sure there was a hot air balloon where her lungs used to be."</p><p>Tooth-rotting, genderbent fluff fic. An apology fic of sorts for my dearest <a href="http://desertvales.tumblr.com">desertvales.</a></p>
            </blockquote>





	I've Got the Strangest Feeling

**Author's Note:**

> Right what it says on the tin: tooth-rotting fluff of the genderbent variety. I loved writing this fic. This is the happiest thing I have ever written, ever.
> 
> [desertvales,](http://desertvales.tumblr.com) I hope you like it as much as I do! :D
> 
> Title from "Past Lives" by BØRNS, the opening of which inspired this entire fic!

Grantaire’s head was in her toilet, her hair pulled messily behind her head and held in place with a bulky brown clip. Her elbows were bent awkwardly as she supported her head in her palms. She was still in full fancy party regalia—fancy slacks, her cleanest converse, and a dress shirt and suspenders. It wasn’t as uncomfortable as she expected it to be.

This was pretty much a normal Saturday for her, to be honest. Jehan had held a ridiculously wonderful bachelorette party for Cosette, and of course Grantaire had been invited. Embarrassingly enough, she had also been invited to the bachelor party Courfeyrac had hosted for Marius, but she had succumbed to Jehan’s puppy-dog eyes.

The bachelorette party had been held on a Friday night, which meant everyone was ready to cut loose after a shitty work week. Jehan had somehow managed to scrape together enough finances from everybody to actually rent out a small club, and they had all arrived an hour early to help set up decorations. The only one who hadn’t shown up early was Enjolras, but according to Jehan, she had finally managed to snag an appointment to discuss some issues with a local legislator, and Jehan wasn’t going to drag her away from that just to have her set up décor. She promised she’d be on time, and Jehan apparently took her at her word for that. Jehan’s wrath when it came to protecting parties was legendary, so Grantaire didn’t doubt it either, to be honest.

Grantaire had been tasked with putting up streamers because she was the only one wearing actual pants and flat shoes, and Eponine had laughed her ass off when Grantaire barely managed to catch herself after tilting too far forward, nearly falling into the sound system. Jehan was doing flower arrangements of pink peonies and daisies, with tulips standing tall in vases dotting the bar. Eponine was in charge of prettying up the chairs and tables, and was doing a lovely job of braiding extra streamers into cute patterns along the back of each chair. Musichetta was setting up the food, which mostly consisted of light snacks and baked goods. She’d slapped Grantaire’s hand when she’d reached for a tiny cupcake, and Grantaire had escaped to her barstool and sulked dramatically until it was almost time for Cosette to arrive.

When she came in, Enjolras was behind her, her hands folded gently over Cosette’s eyes as she steered her through the doors and into the club. Cosette worried her lip, smiling and giggling at something Enjolras said. Enjolras pulled her hands away, and Cosette gasped, her cheeks coloring as everyone cheered. Grantaire clapped from atop her barstool, watching as Jehan excitedly pulled Cosette further into the club, chattering away about the itinerary for the night.

Grantaire smiled and watched them for a moment before chancing a peek—just a little one—over toward Enjolras. She was, as per usual, absolutely beautiful in every way; her curly blonde hair was pulled back into a bun, and she was wearing a white button up and a pencil skirt with black pumps. Her suit jacket was hanging over her arm, and she was smiling and chatting to Musichetta about something, a stray curl falling down over her cheek. Grantaire let herself have a moment to look, because she was a masochist like that, biting at her lip and loosening her hair clip absently.

Enjolras was no doubt talking about the meeting; she had a serious look on her face that she wore when discussing legislature. She gestured wildly with the arm not holding her jacket, and her cheeks were slightly pink with excitement. It had apparently gone well, because she held herself a bit taller than she usually did, her chin held slightly higher, and she was smiling, which was the most important thing. Grantaire and Enjolras may have rarely understood one another, but Grantaire had other ways of understanding Enjolras, and this was one language she had studied religiously.

Grantaire tilted her head down, holding her clip in her teeth as she twirled her hair behind her head, snapping the clip open and closed as she did so. She was honestly glad Enjolras’s meeting went well. After all, Enjolras was pretty close to Cosette, and as much as Enjolras loved to help others, she was rotten when she got into a true sulk, and no doubt Enjolras having a poor meeting with legislators would’ve killed the mood for all of them. Not to mention Grantaire just wanted Enjolras to be happy—again, masochist—so that was a plus too. Sighing with relief, she pinned her hair back in place, testing the reliability of the clip’s position before looking back up.

Enjolras, now standing alone, was staring at her from by the door. Enjolras seemed content where she was standing, her arms crossed, the coat now draped over them. Her brows were furrowed in bemusement even as she was smiling, and Grantaire froze, a bit overwhelmed to be the recipient of that look, and not sure what was going on. Untucking her free hand, Enjolras gestured to the barstool, a question in her eyes.

Grantaire made a show of looking down at the barstool before giving Enjolras a sheepish smile and hopping down from the barstool, hauling it to the bar and putting it back in place. Grantaire shot her a look—“you happy now?”—and Enjolras shook her head, but her smile was still in place, all warmth and lacking any trace of derision. Grantaire’s breath hitched. Her chest expanded, and kept expanding, until she was sure there was a hot air balloon where her lungs used to be.

Things between her and Enjolras had only just recently reached a new state of peace. When they had first met, Enjolras had immediately dismissed Grantaire as someone who didn’t care much about other people on any scale, and Grantaire had laughed at Enjolras’s naiveté and optimism. Their relationship had honestly started off vitriolic and toxic, and for the longest time, Grantaire only came to the meetings because her friends were there. Enjolras had similarly avoided Grantaire, keeping compact in her own group when meetings ended.

But something changed somehow. Maybe it was something karmic, or maybe the whole idea of keeping up their quarrel became old hat to both of them. Either way, time had flown by, and suddenly Grantaire was chipping in at meetings with useful things, and giving counterarguments that were meant to construct rather than degrade. Enjolras started taking Grantaire’s suggestions to heart, and debated with Grantaire in a civil manner. They had reached a point where hostility had become nonexistent. That would have been a natural stopping point, especially for two people who hit it off in the _worst_ possible way the first day they met.

But things only escalated from there. Grantaire had started getting to know Enjolras, whether in passing or from encounters with Enjolras herself, and it seemed the phenomenon was mutual. Grantaire soon became another in a long list of people who dragged Enjolras out of the library at closing time, or brought her coffee in the morning. When Enjolras worked herself into a frenzy, Grantaire took her out for sorbet and made jokes about conservatives. Enjolras had bought Grantaire charcoals for Christmas, and had once insisted Grantaire go grocery shopping with her after hearing that Grantaire was existing entirely on take out and leftovers (which apparently also counted as take out: they had a long argument about that in the car). Enjolras had been the one to throw the hair clips in their grocery basket, and had taught Grantaire how to pull her hair up quickly with them, instead of worrying with hair ties and rubber bands.

It all seemed to culminate in a day they spent at the park. Enjolras had been a little off all day, and Grantaire had managed to drag her out to the park. The two of them sat in silence, but it wasn’t uncomfortable; Grantaire had pulled out her tablet and gotten to sketching some of the park, just soaking up the sunlight and the fresh air. It was a beautiful day, a breeze lightly rustling across both of them, and Grantaire could smell Enjolras’s perfume from where she sat. It was perfect, or almost perfect.

“Can I tell you something?” Enjolras had asked after an indeterminate amount of time, and Grantaire had looked at her, had taken in the dark circles under her eyes and the split in her lip that she had no doubt worried open with her teeth, and had nodded. She turned off her tablet, setting it off to the side.

Enjolras had watched Grantaire’s hands set it aside, and her eyes didn’t flick back up to meet Grantaire’s when she was done. For a while, she just looked at Grantaire’s hands, and then she looked down at Grantaire’s shoes. She breathed in, opening her mouth to say something and looking Grantaire in the eye—and then visibly deflated, looking back down at the grass at their feet. One lone dandelion smiled brightly up at them, but Enjolras didn’t seem to notice it.

Grantaire had been worried, especially since this wasn’t typical Enjolras behavior. But before she even had a chance to speak, Enjolras did, wringing her hands and not looking Grantaire in the eye.

“I have anxiety,” she huffed out on a short breath, her body going very still afterward. She looked Grantaire in the eye, nervous, but whatever expression she saw on Grantaire’s face seemed to ease her mind a little. She looked back down at her hands, still working her fingers together. “I’ve been having a hard time lately, especially since I forgot to get my prescription refilled for a while.”

“How long is a while?”

Enjolras gave Grantaire a sheepish look. “…A month?”

Grantaire sighed, running her hand over her eyes. “Oh, Enjolras.”

“I get very busy sometimes,” Enjolras said defensively, but Grantaire shushed her gently, offering her an apologetic smile.

“Have you gotten it refilled?” she asked, and Enjolras nodded.

“It’ll take a while for my system to recalibrate,” she said, “but yes, I’ve gotten it refilled. I just got so caught up—you know how I get in presidential primaries.” Grantaire nodded, unsure if there was anyone within a twenty-mile radius who _didn’t_ know how Enjolras got during primaries. “And next thing I knew I was suddenly having a hard time leaving the house. I couldn’t sleep, and then I was worried about not being able to sleep, and I was snapping at everyone. I got into a huge fight with Courfeyrac over something stupid. He came over to see how I was doing and I got angry with him because he didn’t call me first.”

She shook her head, grinning wryly, and Grantaire reached out and touched her hands. Enjolras froze, looking at Grantaire, and Grantaire was suddenly struck by the thought that even when she was run ragged and feeling poorly, Enjolras was still the most beautiful thing Grantaire had ever seen. This was not the first time she had thought this.

“Courfeyrac will probably understand if you tell him,” Grantaire said, and Enjolras nodded.

“I called him once I found my empty prescription bottle and checked the date,” she said, and Grantaire pulled her hand away, her palm feeling cold. Enjolras’s hand flexed, but she kept speaking. “I apologized for it. I had no excuse to be so needlessly cruel to him, anxiety or no. But he said it was okay, and told me to get my prescription refilled, and to rest up a bit.”

“I didn’t make you uncomfortable by asking you to come here with me, did I?” Grantaire asked, and Enjolras shot up, turning to face Grantaire more fully, her cheeks flushing and eyes widening.

“Of course not,” Enjolras replied. “I needed to get out of the house anyway. I hadn’t left all weekend. I didn’t get much sleep, and I was worried about not being able to do what I was supposed to do, but this has helped me clear my head.”

Grantaire bit her lip, unsure.

“I promise,” Enjolras added, smiling.

“Okay,” Grantaire replied. She combed a hand through her unruly hair, and they shared another silent moment overlooking the park. The breeze still occasionally wafted over them, and Grantaire could still smell Enjolras’s perfume. Enjolras was smiling, so things were perfect now.

“Thank you,” Grantaire said, and Enjolras turned to look at her. “For trusting me with this.”

“And thank you,” Enjolras replied, “for listening.”

“Any time,” Grantaire replied, and she came to a stand, tucking her tablet in her hoodie pocket and ruffling her hair, stretching and yawning. “Now I don’t know about you,” she said, turning to face Enjolras, and a pang of hurt washed through her upon sight of Enjolras. It was a happy kind of hurt; the kind of hurt that means it’s true. She ignored it. “But I’m in the mood for a pretzel.”

“I know a place,” Enjolras replied, coming to a stand and brushing imaginary dirt off her pants. “It’s a five-minute walk from here.”

“Perfect,” Grantaire said. “Lead the way. I’m buying.”

“No you aren’t,” Enjolras replied, her smile unwavering.

“Yes, as a matter of fact I am,” Grantaire said, patting her other hoodie pocket where her wallet rested. “I have a Fossil in here that’s got an excess of change. I want to buy us some pretzels and then throw some quarters in a water fountain somewhere. I’m going to wish that those shitty teenagers will stop scooping children’s wishes out of the fountain for drug money.”

Enjolras’s nose wrinkled when she laughed, and Grantaire was at once alive and dying.

Like she was right now, with Enjolras hovering by the door, dressed impeccably and giving Grantaire that smile again. Grantaire had never become used to being in her orbit, and was even less used to being directly in her attention.

Luckily, Grantaire was saved by Cosette, who embraced her in a hug and thanked her for the lovely party and decorations.

Cosette had a lovely dress on, a beautiful lilac ensemble that matched the powder blue of her eyes and the gentle pink of her lips. Grantaire pressed an amiable kiss into her hair and steered her toward the dance floor, and without further ado, the party began.

Sadly, hanging over her toilet bowl in her apartment, Grantaire couldn’t remember much else beyond that point save a few key details. She remembered Musichetta and Eponine drinking everyone under a table and laughing about it. Cosette had been the one to fall off of something, but it had been a table she was dancing on. She’d only been winded and a little bruised, but had no broken bones or a concussion. Grantaire had been put in charge of DJing the event, and had serenaded Cosette to the tune of “Never Gonna Give You Up.” Jehan had done an incredible lip-sync to “Barbie Girl” which Grantaire was sure she had recorded on her phone. Grantaire sort of blanked from there, because the next thing she remembered was waking up on her couch, still in bachelorette party regalia, only with a drooping crown of peonies on the floor and with one of her shoes on top of her television while the other was still on her foot.

The crown could easily be explained; flower crowns were probably made for everyone out of the flowers on the tables. And as for the shoe, that could also be explained; Bahorel had gone on enough benders with Grantaire (back when she went on benders way more frequently than she does now) to tell her that she consistently put one things to bed on top of her TV once she re-entered her apartment. Sometimes it was her phone or tablet, other times it was little things like her wallet or a knick-knack she had nearby on a shelf. Last night, it was probably her shoe.

She hadn’t felt sick when she had woken up, but she didn’t doubt her luck would soon turn on her, so after taking a painkiller for her head and clipping her hair into place, she took her glass of water to the bathroom with her, settled down with her toilet, and waited.

And now here she was, waiting. Thinking about Enjolras and waiting, because what else was she supposed to do while she was idle? _Not_ think about Enjolras? She snorted to herself. That was quickly becoming what appeared to be a physical impossibility. She wondered if that fact alone would be the only constant in the universe. Future scientists would run simulations and tests based on Grantaire’s steadfast thoughts about Enjolras. Enjolras was a star whose light would never fade, and Grantaire was a planet caught helplessly in her orbit. Probably a planet like Mercury, because burning on one side and being frigid on the other side seemed to describe Grantaire with aplomb.

There was a knock on the door. Grantaire lolled her head away from the toilet to cry out, “Come in! In the bathroom!” before sinking back down into her pitiful state.

Grantaire could hear the door open and shut quietly, and a soft shuffling sound, like someone taking off their coat and shoes. The gentle noise of feet scuffing across the carpet grew nearer to the back of the apartment. Then: “Grantaire?”

Grantaire had not been waiting for Enjolras.

This was not ideal. Oh God, she couldn’t imagine how pitiful she looked: still in last night’s clothes, hanging over her toilet, slumped like some forlorn hobo. Before she could draw her pounding head up enough for her to start shifting into a position with more dignity, though, Enjolras made it to the bathroom.

She looked like she had _not_ been at a raucous party full of irresponsible young women. Her hair was once again pulled up in an efficient bun, and she wore a blue form-fitting button up over tan slacks. God, she looked beautiful.

“Mornin’, starshine,” Grantaire said, giving a feeble wave and an equally pitiful smile.

“Are you okay?” Enjolras asked, concern furrowing her brows.

Grantaire flapped her hand. “Bah, never better,” she said, squinting up past the bathroom light to see Enjolras’s face. “How come you look like you and I look like me, and we were both at the same party?”

“Because I didn’t drink,” Enjolras replied, and Grantaire blinked. Enjolras folded her arms across her chest. “I was DD, remember? I dropped everyone off at their places, because I didn’t want anyone getting a cab that late at night. You and Jehan fought over who should sit in whose lap.”

Grantaire snorted again, and Enjolras got a sudden strange look on her face. Grantaire scrubbed a hand over her eyes, and when she looked back, the expression was gone. “I don’t remember that at all, but it sounds fun,” she replied. “Who won?”

“You did,” Enjolras replied. “But only because you played dirty and promised Jehan they could put whatever they wanted in your hair.”

Grantaire grinned. “I know my shit,” she said, and she slowly pushed herself up to a kneel. “So what’d you stop by for? You need something?”

“No,” Enjolras replied quickly. “I just wanted to make sure you’re okay. Have you thrown up? Do you need more water?”

“Relax,” Grantaire replied, leaning against the wall and slowly bringing herself to a stand. The higher up she got, the more her head pounded. She’d have to ask Combeferre if there was any correlation between gravity and the severity of a hangover. “I haven’t thrown up; I was just taking a precautionary measure. C’mon.”

She managed to steady herself on her feet, and she sidled past Enjolras, their shoulders brushing as she meandered back through the apartment to get to the kitchen. Enjolras followed her, her feet hushed on the carpet, and Grantaire let her hands busy themselves with getting breakfast materials out. “Do you want anything? Breakfast, coffee, tea?”

“A coffee would be nice, if you don’t mind,” Enjolras said, and Grantaire clicked her tongue.

“One coffee, coming right up,” she replied, prepping some coffee grounds and pouring the water before setting the machine to brew. “I’m going to make myself an egg, if that’s alright.”

“Who am I to tell you what you can and can’t eat?” Enjolras asked, and Grantaire rolled her eyes, turning to shoot a look at Enjolras.

“I just want to make sure that me eating food in front of you doesn’t bother you,” Grantaire said.

Enjolras leaned against a counter and folded her arms again, and Grantaire could sense another fake quarrel in the air. Grantaire took the moment of peace to retrieve the egg from her fridge and crack it into the pan.

“Why on earth would that bother me?” she asked, and Grantaire tapped a finger on her chin, pretending to think.

“Hmm, maybe it’s because I’m pathetic and hungover, how about that?” Grantaire asked in return.

Enjolras quirked a brow. “Isn’t that all the more reason for you to eat something?”

Grantaire threw her hands up in the air, including the one wielding a spatula. “Of course!” she shouted. “Your logic is infallible! How foolish of me!”

“Stop being such a drama queen,” Enjolras groused, but there was laughter in her eyes, so Grantaire counted herself the victor. She turned her attention back to the stove, scrambling her egg and throwing a bit of pepper in there with the shaker she kept by the stove. The silence was comforting, enveloping her in a sort of calm that made her headache seem less taxing. Things were like this with Enjolras so rarely in their hectic daily lives and incompatible schedules, so she let herself bask in this moment.

“Grantaire?”

“Hmm?”

Enjolras paused again, and Grantaire took the pause in stride, getting two mugs from one of her cabinets and putting them by the coffee maker, which was almost done brewing.

“Are you, um… intimate with Jehan?”

Grantaire spun on her heel, fixing Enjolras with an expression of complete confusion. “Where would you get that idea?” she asked. Jehan was like a best friend, and Grantaire had never really seen them in any other way. Sure, they were both tactile people, but Jehan was asexual and aromantic, and Grantaire was far too interested in someone else for anything like that to even consider cropping up.

Enjolras huffed, frustratedly fussing with her bun. She wouldn’t look Grantaire in the eye. “Please just answer the question.”

“No,” Grantaire replied. “Jehan and I are best buds, friends to the end, but sexually and romantically, we are incompatible.” She faced the stove again, shifting the eggs around in the pan. “Most intimate we’ve ever been was when we shared a bed at a sleepover.”

Enjolras was quiet, and Grantaire chanced a glance back at her. She looked pensive, her finger pressed to her lips, her arm folded across her chest and her head tilted down. “Mmkay,” she murmured.

“May I ask why you asked?” Grantaire said, paying too much attention to her eggs. The coffee machine stopped gurgling, plunging them into silence.

“I just wanted to make sure you weren’t seeing anyone,” Enjolras replied, her voice still far off, and Grantaire flinched.

She aimed for joking, because her heart was pounding too hard for her head to keep up. She chuckled, but it was flat. “Who says I’m not seeing anyone else?”

“Are you?”

Grantaire turned around again, and this time Enjolras was looking at her. She was worrying at her lip again, like she did when she was anxious, and whatever Grantaire was going to say before died in her throat, huffed out on a quick breath.

“I’m not,” she said. “Seeing anyone, I mean.”

Enjolras let her lip go. “Do you want to be?”

Oh my God.

Grantaire’s mouth fell open, and for a moment, she forgot about everything. The kitchen seemed at once really _there_ and yet not, faded into some sort of backdrop for this moment, and Grantaire had a sudden rush of philosophical sentiments. “Isn’t it interesting,” she thought, “that the things that mean the most to people often have no true physical manifestation—that mementos serve only as signifiers for events and memories, meant only to prompt recollection of memory?”

Her eggs crackled, and she jumped, whirling and flicking the burner off, taking the pan off the hot burner and putting it on a cool one. Then, she spun around again, this time shifting over and leaning back against a counter.

“What?” she asked, a bit breathless.

Enjolras looked at Grantaire evenly, that stray hair falling out of her bun again, and Grantaire had thought that she knew how to handle herself, but she’d never prepared herself for _success_ , of all things. For _this_ moment, of all moments.

What happens when the dreamer confronts the dream and finds it real?

“I’m asking you if you’d like to… to start a relationship with me,” Enjolras said, and Grantaire’s world zeroed in on her. “I mean, I know we got off to a rocky start. I was awful to you from the start, and it was a mutual kind of awfulness, I think; but since then I have come to respect you, and admire you. I know we’ve only just recently become good friends. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I really don’t want to screw this new thing up, but these feelings of friendship and valuing your companionship extend farther than I thought they did.” Enjolras’s lips softened into a smile. “You’re so kind, Grantaire, and even if you pretend to not care, I know you really do, and you’ve had every reason to blow me off at any moment but you haven’t. And I’ve thought about this a lot, and I’ve made up my mind. I wanted to ask you last night before the party, because you were standing on a barstool and you made faces at me and I couldn’t just let you go on without knowing.” Enjolras bit her lip again, her eyes shifting to look at the floor. “But then I thought, Jehan…”

“They’re my friend,” Grantaire said, because that was all she could say, and Enjolras seemed encouraged by this, lifting her eyes to meet Grantaire’s again.

“And you’re not seeing anyone.”

“And you want me to see you.”

“In the relationship sense, yes.”

Grantaire swallowed, shifting on her feet. “I can be a real shit, you know,” she said.

Enjolras smiled warmly. “I know,” she replied. “I can be pretty terrible.”

“I know.” Grantaire straightened up a bit, hiding her shaking hands behind her back. “So. We’re doing this then?”

Enjolras looked so hopeful, _God_ , it was driving Grantaire insane. She resisted the urge to pinch herself. “Only if you want to, too,” Enjolras replied.

“I’m not going to lie here,” Grantaire said. “I want this a metric fuckton. Have for a while.”

It was Enjolras’s turn to look surprised, though Grantaire had zero ideas as to why. “Really? For a while?”

“Well, duh,” Grantaire said, gesturing to Enjolras. “I mean. Look at you.”

“I have too,” Enjolras said, and Grantaire was overwhelmed with confusion again.

“Don’t see why,” she mumbled with a laugh. It all seemed so farfetched to her: quite silly, as if Lewis Carroll wrote it. “I mean, look at me. I’m in last night’s clothes, I’m cooking hangover eggs, I’m—”

Enjolras cut her off with movement. One moment, she was standing across the kitchen from Grantaire, and the next, she was enveloping Grantaire in a hug, squeezing her tightly to her. The smell of her perfume enveloped Grantaire entirely, and it was mixed with a myriad of other Enjolras smells: her shampoo, the smell of the inside of her car, her deodorant, the crisp detergent she used on her shirt.

Grantaire folded her arms around Enjolras’s waist, squeezing her closer and nuzzling at the juncture of her neck and shoulder, letting herself have this. Shaking because she could.

“Shh,” Enjolras hummed, pressing a small kiss to Grantaire’s cheek. “I will not have my girlfriend disparaging herself when we’ve only just gotten together.”

Grantaire felt the hope then, too, and it welled in her eyes and pulled at her cheeks. Enjolras pulled away from her, beaming too brightly for the hour in the morning it must have been, and she leaned forward and pressed a close-mouthed kiss to Grantaire’s lips.

Grantaire let her eyes fall closed, cupping Enjolras’s elbows in her hands and feeling her forearms fall across Grantaire’s, her fingers spreading across the inside of Grantaire’s elbows. When they pulled away, Grantaire was definitely crying, but she couldn’t stop smiling.

Enjolras gently smoothed a tear away with her thumb, looking concerned but happy. “Are you okay?” she asked quietly, and Grantaire laughed, pressing a kiss to Enjolras’s palm just to see her eyes light up.

“Absolutely,” she replied.

Enjolras smiled, and things were definitely perfect now.

**Author's Note:**

> Come visit me at [tumblr!](http://thevinespeaketh.tumblr.com)


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